


A Point of Pride

by paintstroke



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Cameo: Matt, Endgame Sheith, M/M, Protective Keith (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron), Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Tags to be added, Vampires, Were-Creatures, Were-Lions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 06:31:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintstroke/pseuds/paintstroke
Summary: Shiro had always been the one cheering on the underdog in a fight. No matter how many challenges life threw at him, if there was a chance for him to help someone else out, to make a difference, he would take it.When a lycanthrope attack leaves a traveller mauled and at risk of being taken to a government run "safehouse", Shiro is driven to intervene. If he could help just one person to avoid that fate, it'd be worth it. He expected there to be challenges. He was fine with living in hiding, and cared little for following the laws that harmed his people. But the trouble that followed the traveller came from an unexpected direction...





	A Point of Pride

* * *

As much as he had prepared for it, he nearly choked as the scent of hand sanitizer pummelled his senses. The accompanying notes of powerful cleaners and bleach turned his stomach, and didn’t do nearly enough to cover the underlying blood and sickness, the sourness of stress and pain, of fear and death. The hair on the back of his arms rose, and it was a force of strength to keep from curling his lips back in disgust. 

Despite his own instincts screaming at him to leave, Takashi Shirogane strode into the hospital wearing confidence as if it were armor. The low ceilings pressed down overhead. He wanted to bolt. The waiting room was quiet, and looked like it had been half abandoned since the sixties. Plastic chairs decayed in uneven lines, old magazines lay unread. In the far corner a child tapped on a handheld game, while the elderly woman sitting beside her watched closed captioned tv strapped up in the corner. 

Finding a bit of spare space between the poinsettia and tinsel, Shiro pulled out a leather-bound agenda and flipped to the correct day. The appointment was carefully pencilled in in neat block letters, a convenient coffee-stain partially obscuring a few key words. Shiro leaned against the counter and looked around as he waited for the receptionist to look up from the blocky computer.

He gave her his best shy smile. 

“I’m Jim Marlowe from the Lycanthrope Protection Service. I have a three o’clock here with uh...” He squinted at his agenda where the words blurred. “Ah, this is embarrassing but I don’t think I have the patient’s name.” He looked over his shoulder where the TV where a uniformed police officer was holding a rifle and gesturing at a snow covered forest. “But I think it may be a little obvious who this is about.” A potential lycanthrope attack was news everywhere, and the small town just seemed to amplify the drama. He gave her his ‘good ol’ boy’ grin, running his fingers through his long forelock as if embarrassed by the company’s failings.

A frown creased into her face as she attacked the chunky keyboard, squinting slightly as she turned back to the screen. “I don’t see a record of a request to Social Services for _any_ of our current patients.” 

Shit. Shiro’s palms started to sweat, and he schooled his face into a benign confusion. “Hmm.” He looked down at his agenda as if trying to puzzle something out. “We were called by the task force working with the local police… Marshal Grant, I think it was?” He made a point of tapping the appointment book. “I’ve got a number for him here. If there’s any way I could talk with the victim today, the first seventy-two hours are incredibly critical…” Shiro slid his agenda across, and prayed that Matt’s friend had this up the call forwarding correctly. 

“One moment please…” The receptionist sighed and picked up the phone. 

His heart rate skyrocketed as she quietly spoke. Her frown twisted. “ID,” she mouthed, gesturing at him impatiently.

Shiro pulled the lanyard from around his neck, sliding it under the glass partition, trying to keep his easy-going act on. _Please, just let me be able to help…_

When she set the phone down, he smiled as if he expected it all to be settled. 

She confirmed it. “He’s in room 104, down the hall to your left.”

* * *

Shiro nodded respectfully at both police officers bracketing the door, trying to hide the tension that coiled in his guts at the sight of them and their guns. They were sprawling on two of the uncomfortable chairs, looking rather bored. Shiro prayed that that wouldn’t change anytime soon, and swallowed down the fear that was trying to claw its way up his throat. 

The patient didn’t react to him entering.

“Hi there,” Shiro announced as he claimed the chair nearest the bed. He shrugged his coat off and ran a hand through his long forelock, trying to straighten it out a little. _Professional,_ he reminded himself. _You can do this._

Dark eyes turned to him, almost lost under the matted tangle of hair. The kid really had seen better days, he was a mass of bruises and scrapes. Bandages made his arms into patchwork. His scent screamed his vulnerability; all antiseptic and blood and plaster. 

“I don’t have anything else to say to the police.” the kid stated flatly, turning his expressionless gaze back to the ceiling. 

Shiro wasted a smile as he tried to project his own trustworthiness. “I’m not the police. I’m a social worker, I’m on-call to the hospitals in this area for cases like yours. My name is Jim Marlowe. I’ve got a thirty minute session with you today.” He frantically tried to remember the suggested script. There was more he should say. Something about… he blanked. 

The patient turned a hollow stare back at Shiro. With a blank gaze that somehow managed to be contemptuous he raised his hand. Or tried to. The metallic rattle of the handcuffs against the bedrail was jarring, drawing Shiro’s attention. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” The kid dropped his head back onto the bed with the energy of someone who’d already given up. 

Shiro sighed. “What can I call you?” he asked, eyes darting towards the door. He could see the back of the officers heads through the slatted blinds. Neither seemed to be too interested in what was happening inside the room. That was a relief. 

The kid shrugged. Shiro watched the pain of the motion etch itself over his features. 

Unfazed by the silence, Shiro leaned back in the chair, crossing one ankle over his knee. “I’m part of the Lycanthrope Protection Division.” He unfolded the printout Matt had given him. “You’re aware of why you’re under protective custody, right?” Shiro gestured towards the handcuffs. 

There was a scowl from the bed but no answer. He’d probably been told this a million times. 

This whole situation was so unfair. Shiro tried to keep his voice as gentle as possible. “There’s a chance you were infected during the attack. The tests they’ve ran have been inconclusive so far. Usually they can detect the transmission of the virus, but there are cases where it’s more difficult…”

He paused. A half hour could stretch into a really long time if Shiro was the only one talking. He looked back out at the window to the hallway. Still no sign of concern from the cops. 

“They’ll want to watch you for the next month or so,” Shiro said in a normal tone, assuming he was just rehashing old information. 

Shiro pulled his chair closer to the bed, the metal grating against the floor. He leaned in, frantically squashing his response to the scent of blood and pain and dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “Hey. Listen to me. Don’t tell them your full name. They said you were found without ID - keep it that way. Make sure they never know who you are. The safehouses they offer are prisons. They will ruin your life.”

He leaned back as the stranger’s eyes widened slightly. Suddenly Shiro had his attention.

“Ignoring it won’t make what happened go away. All that’ll do is leave you with less choices,” Shiro shifted back to a normal speaking tone. 

“Why should I trust you?” 

Shiro swallowed. He knew nothing about this man, other than the fact that he’d been mauled outside a bus station and barely escaped the attack. 

One accusation, one blood test and his own life could be over. Again. Still… if he didn’t do anything, the young man in front of him would have his future stripped away. Shiro didn’t want to risk drawing attention by closing the blinds, so he said a silent prayer for his own safety. 

He breathed in and concentrated, pulling a deep well of power to the surface of his mind. He focused the energy, and pushed it out into his skull. He gritted his teeth against the pain as his bones shifted. His jaw cracked, and he could feel the nauseating sensation of his nose lengthening, as his ears shifted up and back, even as his lips peeled away from sharpened teeth. There wasn’t a mirror but he knew the moment when his eyes became golden by the way the light in the room flared painfully bright against altered retinas. With a powerful wrench of control he caught the change, and forced it backwards, panting as his features melted back to human. 

“Trust me,” he whispered. “I’ve been there.” 

“Fuck.” the kid collapsed back into the bed, heart rate monitor beeping at a higher rate.

“Yeah,” Shiro replied, scrubbing a hand across his face. Human. Safe. 

When he looked up, Shiro was met with wide eyes and a face growing pale. “Did you attack me?” 

Shiro looked up, not having considered that. 'Fuck' indeed. “No.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I drove here when I saw the news.” His decision to do so was looking more and more grim though. Stupid, as Matt would likely say. 

The man collapsed back into the hospital bed. “Yeah, those weren’t the eyes I saw.” 

Relief flooded through Shiro. Shiro hesitated, but pulled out a business card and placed it on the bedside table. “If you need an address to put on any documents, you can use this. I can advocate on your behalf and get them to release you into my custody. If you do shift, it’s your best chance.”

“Maybe I’m not infected…”

“Maybe, kid. I hope not.” Shiro said, honesty raw in his voice. 

Something steeled in the stranger’s gaze. “Keith,” he corrected, looking offended. “Not ‘kid’.”

Shiro smiled. “Okay, Keith,” he repeated, and only the dark bruises kept him from reaching out to pat the survivor. “I’ll be back tomorrow. You can think about it.”

* * *

Keith’s acceptance led to a mountain of paperwork. Shiro sweated his way through scrawling false addresses and contact numbers, calling Matt in what he hoped was a professional seeming confirmation for some of the info. They just needed to get out of here without raising any red flags. While Shiro was chained to his makeshift desk, Keith hobbled down the hall, left leg in a cast, the pain obvious as he made wobbling progress the crutches. 

Shiro took stacks of info on physical therapy and antibiotics treatments, gritted out a smile as he was handed propaganda on dealing with the threat of lycanthropy, false promises of safe places for Keith, and lied through his teeth when he promised to make sure to get Keith back to the hospital for rabies shots over the next few weeks. He felt guilty, but there would be only this one chance for Keith to drop off the radar.

* * *

The collection of keychain charms clattered against Shiro’s leg as the engine turned over, once, twice, finally catching and grumbling to life. The old truck shook more than purred.

Keith wrapped his arms around himself and his new collection of painkillers and antibiotics. The borrowed clothing made him look small, but the large jacket and sweats would be warm, and the fuzzy hat pulled low on his head let him hide in the layers. He looked like he was trying to jam his body into the corner of the truck, as far away from Shiro as possible.

“Where were you heading?” Shiro asked. ‘Before the attack’ was left unsaid.

Keith’s shoulder lifted and dropped. He stared out of the side window, hair obscuring his face.

Shiro shrugged the silence off. “Is there anyone you want to call?”

The clicking of the turn signal echoed through the cab.

Still no answer. “I don’t have a telephone at the cabin,” Shiro warned. “We can make a stop at a town on the way if you change your mind.”

Shiro reached over to turn the radio on. Quicker than he would have thought, Keith’s hand shot out, catching his fingers before he could reach the dial. Startled, Shiro turned.

“Just drop me off anywhere. The town’ll be fine.”

Shiro blinked for a moment, before snapping his attention back to driving. He wasn’t about to leave a potential lycanthrope with a broken leg at the side of the road and hope for the best. “I meant what I said back there…” he reminded Keith. “I want to help you.”

“Look, I don’t have any money.” Keith admitted, defensiveness making the words bristle.

“I don’t do this for money. Keith… this is a community. Attacks like you endured are terrible. They’re something everyone wants to avoid – humans and lycanthropes both.”

Keith made a bitter noise, something that Shiro cringed to call a laugh. “Sorry to shit on the community spirit by being attacked.”

Shiro’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Not what I meant, Keith.” He flattened his lips, drawing on years of teaching high school to remain patient while drowning his own irritation. “We look out for each other.”

“I don’t need anyone looking out for me.”

“Going through this alone has been too much for too many people. You want to do it alone? Fine. Eventually you can do that. But you have to prove to me that you can do it. That you can handle these instincts, the change, and not hurt anyone.”

“I’m not going to shift.” 

Shiro looked over. Keith turned out the window again, muscle in his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth. 

Shiro sighed. Given the amount of damage the attack had done… well. There were exceptions. He could be wrong. “Okay, Keith. Think of this as a free place to stay and heal then.” 

“So one full moon and then I can go?”

Shiro narrowed his eyes, reluctant to promise anything. “That depends on what happens,” he decided.

They turned onto a smaller road, heading deeper into the forest. 

“When do I get my things back?” Keith’s voice had gone small, the fight drained away from his words. 

“Things?” Shiro repeated. 

“They weren’t at the hospital…”

Shiro gave an uneasy exhale. “They’ll be with the police, probably.” That was one place where his cover story wouldn’t fly. “Is there anything that you can’t replace?”

Keith turned to Shiro, a look of consideration on his face as he nodded. “Is it a problem to just ask for it back?”

“A little one…” Shiro admitted. 

Keith narrowed his eyes, hand inching towards the door-handle. “What do you mean?”

Shiro hunched over the steering wheel and tried to decide how to answer. He drummed his thumbs for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “So you know that quote, about how if a law is unjust it’s your duty to break it?” Shiro paraphrased. 

When he dared to glance to his silent passenger, Keith was staring back at him. 

“Um.” Shiro rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “I’m sort of living that right now. My real name is Shiro - Takashi Shirogane. I keep an eye out for any survivors of attacks in need of help - the laws don’t protect anyone but those in power. I’m not part of Social Services and there’s not really an organization… well, there is, but for their safety, I’d rather not introduce you in case you don’t shift. There’s been a few others taken down and uh… nevermind.” His words tumbled together. This wasn’t really an inspiring speech. “If you don’t shift, I can drop you off wherever you want after the next full moon. I’m not… god, this looks terrible, doesn’t it?” he gave a self-aware grimace. 

“Yeah,” Keith raised an eyebrow, but didn’t seem ready to jump out of the car. Shiro felt that gaze tear him open. Keith settled back in his chair, evidently thinking it over.

Shiro started to breathe again. “So uh, either in a month you head back to the police office and claim them yourself, or I can try to get someone to claim it on your behalf. The organization has some connections. Can you live without your things for a month?”

“Yeah.”

Shiro nodded. “I’ve got a place off the grid that I use as a sort of safehouse. It’s not ideal, with your leg, but I’m not sure of where else to stay that won’t attract the wrong sort of attention.”

Keith shrugged again. “It’s not like I have a better offer.” He slouched down in the chair and closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. 

Shiro could tell he wasn’t asleep, but respected the gesture. He turned up the radio and concentrated on the road. This was going to be an interesting month.


End file.
